


Runes and Withered Bonds

by pumpernickel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 07:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpernickel/pseuds/pumpernickel
Summary: Change happens slowly, but over the course of a decade, it becomes obvious and at times, frightening. Fleur has spent that decade making a name for herself as one of the most skilled Runemasters in the world while simultaneously searching for answers to a part of her power she's never quite understood. But she supposed it had been only a matter of time before her career brought her into the path of the vaunted Head Auror, Harry Potter, once again.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Kudos: 38





	Runes and Withered Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello.
> 
> This is my first ever attempt at writing smut. (I'm aware the first scene is lackluster. That's intentional.) To be complicated, I also wanted to practice other aspects of my writing technique at the same time. Let me know what you think of the smut, what's good, what's bad. Same with the prose. Constructive Criticism is very welcome as I'd love to use it to help improve the second chapter.
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy.

Light spilled through drawn blinds in orange, regimented rows of the setting sun. Each strip a rung on a ladder that climbed into the bedroom and across the floor, up the bed, and across crumpled sheets to spill across a bare torso. They shadowed slight musculature and sent the faint sheen of sweat to glistening; tiny diamonds that dotted skin she had once found so mesmerizing.

Where hers was the alabaster of her kin, his contrasted with the luster of a life lived in the sun; a tanned hue that even now clashed so perfectly against her own bare skin. Each rock forward drew the flesh of his abdomen taut with pleasure and rhythm, and each return, where she buried him just slow enough to keep herself on the teasing edge of interest, sent ripples through the body beneath her.

Large, thick hands kneaded her thighs, pressing her down deeper; an ineffectual change to her dance that she stalled by sliding one up her side to envelope her breast. Work-thickened muscles drew coarse pleasure from her with sharp, biting pinches and the drag of rough thumbs across tender nipples.

While he bucked and kneaded, she latched on to the infrequent brushes of sensation in her mind. Not that of inexpert but earnest hands or the satisfying plunge with each drop of her hips, but of the flicker of emotion dancing beyond the edge of her senses, occupied as they were.

Eyes that took in his concentration punctuated with fluttering pleasure. A tongue, sore from her overeager initiation but with the taste of him still lingering inside her mouth. The heady scent of his sweat and hers mingling, and the heat of her need rolling through her skin.

And the need of her heart, so unanswered by the kernel of sense stuck in the back of her mind: a puny, worthless bond just like all the others.

He was nice. She liked him quite a lot, she supposed, and when his hand dipped between her legs and he matched her rhythm to send growing, pulsing waves through her, she had to admit he was attentive as well.

Good, overall.

But not good for her. Not really.

The looming thought of another bond, snipped due to either inept casting or an inept caster, nearly stole the desire from her blood that faltered in its building crescendo.

Rather than end what she knew to be their final liaison with a sputtering halt, she bent down, enjoying the brush of his taut skin against her breasts as she brought her mouth to his, capturing his breath while she leveraged herself faster until she could finally spill over, dragging him along inside her convulsions.

She let him rest beside her while she prepared in silence. That such a complex, supposedly life-altering bit of magic could be cut with little more than a thought boggled her mind. Each had been, to a one, quick and painless.

At first.

Forgetting the heartache that often followed.

Not always, and not nearly as poignant or piercing as it had once been, but the pain was there. And she knew it would be there this time.

He was not a bad man. Far from it. He was attentive and understanding, if a bit busy, and had treated her with the care and respect she searched for.

And yet their tie to one-another never manifested as more than the passing sensation of a presence in her thoughts. And on his end, he felt much the same. Or at least had said as much.

No doubt if he was lying he would be able to sense what she was up to, and wouldn’t be laying at her side, a bundle of warmth and musculature pressed against her that sent electric thrills running down her spine to ignite fitful sparks between her legs. Sweat-slicked and sex-drunk, it wouldn’t be too much work to initiate another final round.

He was delightfully simple in that regard, after all.

A brush of fingers and the caress of tongue in all the appropriate places would have him responding in short order. Even the mingled scents of sweat and sex shifted to something alluring, rather than a byproduct of their exertions.

But no.

She had delayed before and it was all the more painful for it, no matter the minor pleasure that was her excuse.

Intimacy would come again, eventually.

And as she curled her legs and rose from the bed, the cord in her mind snapping away with a single prod, she thought it might not be a bad idea to, for once, try to forget about the damn bond and just enjoy someone’s company.

No matter how much time she had devoted to the accursed thing.

That thought carried her through the conversation that followed. A shallow, disappointing talk where he admitted to noticing her withdrawal and had seen the shape of things before they came. A final insult to the sham that had been their bond. The feel of him in her mind had barely indicated he was awake, let alone had suspected the end of their nearly year-long relationship.

She had rebuffed his requests of cohabitation and she reaped the melancholic rewards when it only took a goodbye and a simple step through the floo to remove herself utterly from his life, just as she had done of him in her mind.

Her home greeted her as it always did, a mess of orderly chaos where her runic work spilled from her desk in a tidal wave of textbooks and unpublished theories. Wallpaper covered by reference sheets and reminders and a floor in desperate need of decluttering. 

She tutted to herself when she noticed she had grown lax enough to allow her mess to encroach upon the massive, plush couch that was her island away from the world and in theory, away from work. It was for naps and warm evenings by a fire, someone by her side or covered in a blanket, book in hand, steaming mug of coffee on the floor. It was her personal space, not a workspace.

Well…she wouldn’t be cuddling against anyone any time soon, she supposed, drawing her wand from her pocket. But that was not a good reason to leave things in such a state. Focusing on her passion…her other passion would be a nice distraction while she considered. 

Her focused cleaning led, as it often did, to the discovery of notes and half-finished articles that she had found fascinating, but had been too caught up in her actual work to follow up on. She slid yet another paper onto a to-read pile and sighed, scanning the mayhem around her. Work hadn’t fallen into her lap in quite some time. Preeminent runic consultant as she might be, it wasn’t often that your average witch or wizard needed such high-level esoteric knowledge. Perhaps it was time to lower her sights. Sure, her rates were outside the range of most individuals, but there might be fertile grounds to be found on the footpath; a loitering interest in government affairs that she hadn’t needed to cultivate since her days as an apprentice.

Not for the first time, she cursed her estrangement from so many useful contacts in the English Ministry. But the curse lacked any impact. Nobody had forced her to stay in England following the less-than-magnanimous end of her marriage. It was only her fault she couldn’t reach out to some of the highest members in the Ministry.

So she would have to start lower. See what she could pry from those on the ground, rather than the ones up in their ivory towers.

In the days following, she renewed her subscriptions to the Prophet and Quibbler, though the latter had grown even odder in the time since she’d last read an issue. That didn’t mean there wasn’t still truth to be found in the strange articles and editorials found inside.

Her lead, however, came from the Prophet, nearly a week after her separation. It had been nice to return to her old routine, an early morning walk down cracked stone streets flanked by a bakery owned by the oldest, friendliest couple she’d ever had the good fortune to meet. The table she preferred, the one by the front window, was open and inviting, and once she was lost in the paper, a cup of coffee found its way to her with nothing more than a smile from old Mrs. Berry.

The article that caught her attention was distressingly close to the front page. Big enough news that people would take notice, and barely small enough for her to poke her nose in without being recognized, either for her ex-affiliation to certain well-known families or by her considerable reputation.

But, it was something to do. And if she was lucky, she’d find something to look into before the nastiness of the sickness took her.

Thanking Mrs. Berry, she left the muggle bills on the table in payment and left, waiting until she was out of sight before apparating away.

\-----------

The house mentioned in the Prophet buzzed with activity, half of which seemed assigned solely to keep people from doing exactly as she had planned on doing. Stoic men and women stood guard at intervals around the perimeter, each one rebuffing reporters and goose-neckers alike with clipped, succinct refusals.

That was…not good.

Her interest in the article had been what sounded like an allusion to amalgamated runes; some of the highest, most complex forms of runic arrays. The Prophet made it sound like some dullard had tried his hand and magic far beyond his capabilities and had suffered for it.

This was not the reaction of some simple magical mishap. This was Ministry procedure for the types of reports locked beneath multiple enchantments and keyed to a very limited number of people high in the ranks of the Aurors and the Ministry.

Which meant…

She nearly missed him and noticed far too late to duck away unseen. There had been no bad blood between them, though his close ties to the Weasleys and a decade of hearing who-knows-what could have changed that. It wasn’t that she was avoiding people she once knew…she just hadn’t planned for any sudden reunions.

But she hadn’t been fast enough. Nor was she any sort of inconspicuous. Even in her work-clothes, people stared and her silvery hair gleamed in the sunlight. 

A beacon of beauty, she’d been told by numerous men who’d thought themselves smooth. The very sun in the sky or as luminescent as the moon, by others with a tiny poetic bone in their bodies.

Above them all though, she preferred-

“Fleur!”

His voice startled her. Not for its intensity or the shock at being recognized — she’d seen him notice her — but for its depth. The young man she’d seen dance awkwardly with Genevra at her wedding and even the one who’d returned from an unexplained absence to defeat the darkest wizard the world had known in ages hadn’t possessed the brisk, collected poise that he now encapsulated.

Similarly gone was the gangly little boy she’d first met, as well as the awkward young man in the years that followed. Years at the head of the Aurors appeared to have both filled him up and hollowed him out. Where there had been a thin somewhat scrawny body there was now a form of sleek, efficient muscles and a confident gait. Where there had been guarded eyes that shone with wonder now were ones that were narrowed, focused, and tired.

“Let her through,” he said, stepping up to the Auror guard nearest to her.

She followed his nod towards the building and caught up with him in a few quick steps. Being brought into the case wasn’t ideal, but she had shown up for a small project. No reason she couldn’t alter her plans if it became a much larger one.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stopping halfway up the small stone path that led up to the front door. Noticeably distant from any other set of ears.

“I read about it in the paper. It piqued my interest.”

Her perfectly truthful answer earned her an unblinking gaze that held the clear expectation of elaboration.

“Any Runemaster worth anything at all would catch the allusion to amalgamated runic arrays. Even if the journalist didn’t know what they were talking about, the signs were there.” She paused, scanning the assembled crowd for a face she was pretty sure she had seen searching for ways to slip by the guards. “There. You see? There’s Stibbons…and Gamberly if I’m not mistaken.”

His gaze flicked over to where she pointed and softened when he spotted the pair. Softened in the same way a stone does beneath centuries of rain. He returned it to her.

“We’re not ready to go public with this yet and three different people just happen to show up?”

“I’m not here to expose whatever it is you’ve got inside,” she snapped, the odd feeling of overlaying this new version of him over the old slipping away at his insinuation. “There is precious little for us to do if we aren’t willing to be a part of some excavation team out in some tundra somewhere. I’ve always been interested in arrays like these and wanted to see one for myself.”

No need to mention what it was about the array that had captivated her so.

She waved a hand through the air to encompass the property.

“I hadn’t expected something like this.”

His nod was slow in coming and he ran a hand through short, messy hair.

“Right,” he said, frowning over at the squat, two-story building. “It’s just a bit strange. With what we’ve got in there and then somebody I haven’t seen in almost ten years showing up…call me paranoid, but it just seems fishy.”

“It’s as though Mad-Eye never died.”

“Very funny,” he shot back, though the corner of his lips turned up for the slightest of moments. “Listen…have you maintained your clearance with the Ministry?”

“Of course. It’d be a little unwise to lock myself out of the most lucrative work in my field.”

“Rank nine or ten?”

At that, she blinked.

“Eight. What sort of Runemaster has rank ten access?”

His lips drew into a line and he scratched at the thick stubble across his chin.

“Damn. Well, it’s high enough for you to see what’s going on, I’ll just need to be careful about information,” he grumbled, then fixed her with a tired smile. “How about it, want a job?”

“Depends on the job.”

His sigh was long and drawn out; one that seemed to drain him of whatever it was that locked him so tightly into the rigid commander and returned him to someone she recognized. 

Back into Harry.

“Well come on then,” he said, turning and leading her up to the house. “Better you than Stibbons. Chances are good we’d have ended up calling you to consult eventually.”

“Oh? That complex then?”

“Among other things.”

Where she had sought to ignite a conversation, his quiet answer settled an uncomfortable weight over her shoulders. No matter how unexpected, it was nice to see him again and would have been even more so under different circumstances. He appeared to hold none of the animosity the Weasleys did, though it could be hidden behind the veil of professional courtesy.

All the same, despite the many years past, there had been a glimpse of that tired adolescent in his words.

“Have you heard mention of the recent cult activity around Knockturn?” he asked, escorting her through the front door and into a narrow front hall that sat empty in strange juxtaposition to the bustle outside.

“I’m not blind and can read, so yes.”

Another tiny quirk into a smile. Good. There was an odd desire to lift at least a fraction of the weight she saw settled on her once-maybe-friend.

“You’d be surprised at what people can ignore.”

They turned into a filthy kitchen and he opened a door to a stairwell that led down into a basement. A quick light spell lit the tip of her wand and she descended down into the relative darkness, following his heavy footsteps down creaky wooden stairs.

At the bottom, rather than storage shelves or boxes that filled most homes, the stone floor had been shattered, with rubble strewn against walls and into corners, leaving the dark earth beneath visible. In the middle of the destruction, a body sat clad in black, threadbare trousers, its top half exposed.

A half-carved in some of the most complex runes she’d ever seen.

“No wonder you needed to call me,” she murmured once she’d managed to process the sight in front of her. “This is…I can’t even tell you. It’d take me weeks to even have a guess as to its purpose.”

Another ball of light popped into existence at the end of his wand and he bent down to hold it out above a patch of dirt.

“That’s not even all of it,” he said, exposing yet more dug into the hard earth with exacting precision. “Most of these, as far as I can tell, are mirrored on his body, but a few are unique on both him and the ground.”

“Tethers maybe,” she guessed, squatting down next to him. That would fit with what had drawn her to the article in the first place. “Usually in instances like that, one is meant to affect the other. A pair of candles with a certain shared rune will both light when you tap either one.”

He shifted to glance at her, green eyes shining with the magical light.

“I did take ancient runes, you know.”

“You’d be surprised at what people forget,” she shot back with a small grin.

It earned her a grunt in return which she chose to interpret as a laugh.

“So, without those weeks you wanted, what’s your guess?”

It was her turn to shift and stare at him.

“That’s not at all how this works.”

The hand he dragged across his face held a few pallid scars that shone stark white in the artificial light.

“I know…but do you have anything at all? Like I said, there’s certain information I can’t disseminate to you but even a wild guess might click with something I know.”

She blew out a breath and returned her attention to the runes carved into the ground.

“These are…strange,” she said after a moment. “Usually you connect things with runes to have one affect the other, but one person isn’t enough to affect the entire planet. It could be that they were attempting to connect into some ley line or the cumulative residual magic of centuries of magical people living in this area.”

She stared down at the circle of symbols, wishing desperately that she had thought to bring a camera or a sketchbook or something. Though…she hadn’t expected to be dragged into the middle of some top-secret investigation when leaving the bakery that morning either.

“And you could have more if you had more time?” he asked.

“That is my job, after all.”

“How much more?”

She turned and smiled a toothy smile at him.

“Less than Stibbons.”

His answering nod was a single bob of his head and he rose with a quiet grunt.

“I’ll get pictures sent to you as soon as I can. A day or two at most.”

She stood as well, the light of her wand casting his face into deep, tired shadows.

“You look exhausted,” she murmured before her mind had the good sense to clamp down on the words.

At that he finally laughed; a soft chuckle that rumbled in his throat.

“Not all of us can be effortlessly beautiful at all times,” he said with a half-grin before leading her back to the stairs. “I’ve been up for a few days. This cult stuff is running us ragged.”

It was certainly no luminous moon or shining sun but it was far from the worst she’d ever heard. 

“And you don’t think you might be more effective if you got some sleep every once in a while?”

“I hear that plenty from-” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Well, Amelia has threatened to bar me from the department again if I don’t take some time off.”

“None of my business if you drop dead from overwork,” she said, catching his eye with a quick grin when he glanced over at her. “So long as I get my pictures. Those arrays are so complex I too will be enjoying the virtues of sleepless nights. Should be fun.”

“Fun?” he echoed, squinting as they stepped out into the afternoon sun where the gawking crowd had dwindled somewhat. “All you runic specialists are weird like that. I’ve seen Gamberly’s office. It looks like someone blew it up and threw gravel all over the floor.”

“Because runes are fascinating,” she said, stopping alongside him on the grass. “Did you know that there is a pair of runes I could etch into your wand that would increase its power exponentially?”

His eyes widened and he gaped for a moment that she reveled in. The Harry she knew was still in there and catching small glimpses carried her back into a simpler time.

“Then…why don’t you do it?” he asked.

“Because it’s truly exponential. It will draw in ambient magic until both you and it explodes. We don’t know how to limit it and people are somewhat reluctant to experiment.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

She smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm, one that flexed in surprise at the touch.

“It was good to see you again, Harry. I look forward to receiving my pictures.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said. “Paranoia aside, it was lucky you showed up. I’d have been banging my head against a wall for ages, then had to call someone anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

At his answering smile, she turned and apparated home.

_____

Rather than waiting days, she was made to wait only a few hours before hearing from him again. Her floo flared while she was knee-deep in papers and reference material, the beginnings of an attempt to organize her workspace before she received the pictures he had promised.

His face appeared in the flames, the exhaustion prevalent even through the green tint to all his features.

“Can I help you?” she asked, disentangling herself from the small, organized piles strewn across the floor.

“I’ve got some photos of the runes for you,” he said through a yawn.

“Already?” 

“They’re not great but I figured you’d like something better than nothing. We’re working on getting someone who knows how to take muggle photos of sufficient quality.”

She let a small smile show as he finished.

“I’m impressed. We often get handed sub-par reference material and are expected to work with what we’re given.”

“I’m not exactly a rookie.”

“I suppose not,” she agreed. “Are you going to owl them to me or do you have them with you?”

His eyes darted back to look at something she couldn’t see and then focused on her again, coupled with an odd expression on his face.

“I’ve got them with me,” he said. “Part of the reason I was calling was to see if you wanted to go to a pub with me. We can go over them there.”

To her extreme pleasure, her face remained impassive and pleasant while her insides coiled in…something. It was certainly not revulsion and was no small part…excitement?

So soon after severing another bond?

But she didn’t have to bond him to go to a damn pub. Nor did she need to in order to enjoy herself…

Which could be a rather pleasant option, should he avoid working himself to death before she found the opportunity.

“Are you asking me out to a pub for a first date?” she asked, allowing her smile and tone to grow a tad mocking.

Rather than fluster as she had expected — hoped — he simply laughed.

“No, I wouldn’t ask for a date to go over work-related stuff. I’ve been barred from the DMLE by Amelia while we wait on the photographs and I have a pub I like to visit to unwind before I go home.”

“Surely you’d benefit more from getting some sleep if your superior is sending you home for mandatory rest.”

A single shoulder coalesced in the flames as he shrugged.

“The slight white-noise of a small drunken buzz never hurt a good night’s sleep. You coming?”

She put on a show of consideration, allowing it to drag on until he began to smile at her obviously false delay.

“I suppose. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been out with someone-”

Her tongue failed to produce the rest of the words as the truth of the statement drew an odd pit of loneliness into stark view.

She’d had someone to spend with until recently, so why did her throat constrict at the thought of even non-romantic socializing?

Non-romantic yet, some small part of her added. Whether that part was in her mind or somewhere far further down, she didn’t care to clarify.

\--------------

If she was being polite, the pub was quaint, full of history, and charmingly true to its original design. If she were not, it was just shy of ramshackle and in desperate need of any sort of maintenance. What was not up for debate, however, was the friendliness of the patrons. To a one they all greeted Harry with smiles and waves, some coming up to chat and catch-up in the way of near-friends long separated.

Which, she supposed, made sense, considering his proclivity for working far too long and far too hard. Enough to get him barred from his department, anyway.

They greeted her in turn at his introduction, winks and grins from ancient, white-haired old men clear in their suggestiveness. Even the woman behind the counter, Marnie, as she soon learned, cast a quick eye to Harry after giving Fleur a quick once-over. Though her attention turned back to Fleur where the others had simply laughed.

“Bit of a handful, this one,” Marnie said, her accent surprisingly thick. Just how rural was this pub Harry had insisted was his favorite? “Especially bringing his lady to a pub like this.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Harry cut in, jerking his head towards an empty table. “We’ll be over there. Two ales, if you would.”

Eyes the color of oak and just as unflinching eyed Harry with a healthy amount of skepticism before Marnie yielded with a shrug.

“You must come here often,” Fleur said once they’d taken seats that barely seemed as though they could handle a quarter of her weight, let alone his muscular build. “The people here all know you by name.”

His hand lifted in a wave to another old man who wandered through the door, gray hair cropped short against his wrinkled head.

“Not really,” Harry said, focusing his attention back on her. “I’ve been around for a couple of years. Even though I’m not here much because of work, we all know each other.”

At that, her image of him shifted, pushing away yet more of what she remembered from so many years ago.

“You live in a muggle area?” she murmured. “I’m surprised.”

He shrugged in response. “The Prophet’s journalists haven’t cracked it yet. I used to live in Godric’s Hollow but I barely got a moment’s peace.”

“I forget that you’re such a celebrity.”

His gaze locked on hers so fast her spine went rigid and her lungs momentarily forgot how to draw in air.

All at once, the intensity vanished, his expression shifted away from the hard scrutiny.

“That’s how I’d prefer it, actually. Almost seven years as the head of the Aurors and people still only want to talk about something I did as an idiot teenager.”

While conversation buzzed around the pub, filling the cracks in the old walls and lending an odd, comfortable ambiance to the space, it failed to permeate the frosty chill she’d stumbled into.

A quick switch was in order. Despite whatever it was inside her that told her she needed to be reticent, finding out about this new Harry was almost as fascinating as the runes he’d hired her to investigate. 

Almost.

“Are these the pictures?” she asked.

He nodded and slipped a few glossy sheets of paper from inside a folder he’d carried with him into the pub.

“We’re working on getting better ones with muggle cameras,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I know these won’t be ideal, but I figured something was better than nothing.”

The runes held in the photos shifted and pulsed with a strange light as she flipped through, their ambient magical energy imprinted upon the spelled paper making it difficult to discern more than a few of the more simple runes.

“It’s a decent enough start,” she said, flipping to the next while taking care to keep the moving pictures out of view of any potentially nosy people nearby. “I recognize some of these. Naudiz, Mannaz. Though I’m unsurprised to find those here.”

“I thought I recognized those,” he said, thanking Marnie as he accepted glasses full of dark amber ale. “I’m not convinced you’re worth the giant price-tag so far.”

“Shocking, considering you’ve given me next to nothing in terms of information,” she shot back, though his grin kept any heat from her words.

It was a nice smile. Small and full of hidden mirth.

Dusty and unused.

His tired eyes barely softened above the expression, calculating and considering while the rest of him joked and tried to relax.

But it was clear he knew she was right, which begged the question…

“Why’d you ask me here, if you know that muggle photos are of so much more use? You could’ve just owled these to me.”

That tiny smile faltered and her brazenness followed suit. She’d joked about a date, but she hadn’t thought it too far off the mark. It wasn’t often she misread something like that.

“I…”

For the first time, the sheen of confidence and competence wavered, giving her a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Profound exhaustion so much deeper than too many nights spent working.

Her heart picked up its pace. Perhaps she hadn’t been exactly wrong about what this was meant to be, but a date was decidedly off the mark.

“I thought it might be nice,” he finally answered. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t been out with anyone in a while.”

“Really?” she asked, then took a quick sip to mask her significant surprise at his nod. “I’d thought you, Hermione, and Ronald would be friends until the end of time. Do you not go out with them?”

His answering chuckle came out flat, dry, and with a smile to match.

“We’re…somewhat on the outs. For much the same reason as I’ve been booted from the DMLE for now.”

“Have you considered,” she began as he took another long sip to punctuate her statement, “that you actually work too much?”

“Oh I’m sure I do,” he said. “I learned a long time ago that when that whole family is against me in something, I’m usually the one in the wrong.”

Ancient, buried feelings of resentment tore free of their graves deep in the pits of her stomach. 

They could be quite ardent in their united front, that was without question.

“They can be wrong,” she found herself saying. “From time to time.”

“They can be,” he allowed. “But they probably aren’t about this. Turns out regular three and four-day streaks aren’t normal.”

“I can’t argue there. I’ve had my fair share of all-night work sessions, but rarely more than that.”

More than that, she’d seen more than one of her bonds dissolve from her insatiable, single-minded interest in her career.

And then the opposite.

He downed the rest of his drink and motioned for another and she decided to follow suit. There was indeed something pleasant about the slight buzz that followed a few drinks with someone who could become a friend again.

Or perhaps a bit more.

She made it a point to bury herself in her next drink in an effort to shield herself from his gaze, which flitted over to her at regular intervals while they let an easy silence descend between them. It was curious, mostly tired, and somewhat wandering, she noted with some satisfaction.

It hadn’t been the first time she’d seen his eyes dart down to sneak inappropriate glances. Both at fourteen and at seventeen he’d been a polite young man, for the most part, but subtle he was not. How odd that an annoyance from years before could become a pleasant thrill.

Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed the way hers wandered as well. It had been a distinct pleasure to follow him into the pub and the way his shirt pulled against his torso when he waved to the dozen old men he knew by name made her wish he knew more. Though hardy, the hands that gripped his ale were…not delicate, but agile? Streamlined?

She puzzled at the thought and took another long drink while memories of work-thickened, calloused hands faded from somewhat recent memory.

Then, she very nearly leapt out of her skin when he spoke.

“Is…there something on my hand?”

He inspected it, then finding nothing, grabbed his ale and took a large drink.

“I was thinking about the runes,” she lied. “Or trying to anyway. Tethering runes like the ones we can see in the picture are vague. Or more that the meaning is vague without the rest to give it context. Tether, not tether. Tie, cut. Bond, split.”

She trailed off, mind wandering back to the feeling of the bond vanishing from her mind and something inside her giving a sympathetic stab of pain.

“Probably tether,” he muttered, his next long pull emptying his mug. “You should look there first when you get the proper pictures.”

She needed to focus. No sense in ruining a good time with her obsession.

“Some of that rank ten information, I take it?”

“Precisely,” he said, waving Marnie away when she asked if he wanted more.

He grunted as he stood and offered a hand to help her to her feet.

Warm. Soft.

And sturdy.

“I need to get home,” he said, leading the way out of the pub, much to her delight. “I really do feel like I might fall asleep on my feet.”

“Are you sober enough to apparate?” she asked, a quick mental inventory of her own wits telling her she could probably do with a brisk walk before attempting such, let alone side-along.

He bobbed his head from side to side, then nodded.

“I am, but I don’t need to,” he said, pausing at the door. “I like this pub cause I live just down the road."

The air of the summer night brushed a cool breeze against skin that still pulsed with heat that attempted to wrestle free of her control. The sky overhead twinkled with stars that mocked her incessant desire for bonded pairs, a celestial reminder that the fairy tales she had listened to, wrapped up in blankets and surrounded by a menagerie of stuffed animals were simply that. Tales to entertain children. 

Not to instruct.

There was freedom in the thought though, she realized, as her blood cooled and she listened to Harry greet the occasional passerby by name. Forging and breaking those bonds grew more exhausting with each attempt and it was no stretch to believe that, eventually, she would find she could not manage it at all.

They turned a corner, the smooth sidewalk breaking into an old cobblestone street that snaked off into the darkness, bereft of streetlights and lit only by the sliver of moonlight from overhead. Small hills rose in the distance, earthen cheeks freckled by trees and covered in grass that captured the light from above with wavy ease.

“I didn’t get a good look when we apparated in,” she said into the stillness, surprised to find her voice a near whisper, lest she shatter the idyllic countryside into its separate, dreamy components.

“It’s a nice little place, isn’t it,” he said, the pride in his voice as thick as if he had raised the whole little village stone by stone himself.

“I admit, I’m surprised to find that you live rurally. I might have expected a penthouse in London or some fancy house in another country. Italy maybe.”

“Oh?” his voice was amused, but distant; carried easily away on the slight summer wind.

“It’s what the tabloids speculate. They have pictures too, if I recall correctly.”

“Read articles about me often?” he asked, finally looking over at her with a small grin that grew wider when she simply stared back, expressionless. “They eat that sort of stuff up. You give ‘em a little bit of what they want, and they don’t care about the truth.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” she said as he turned off the cobblestone street down a narrow dirt path, “that you make it a point to appear as though you are leaving various homes simply to fool the nosy journalists?”

Rather than answer, he only nodded, then placed a hand on her shoulder. Before she could ask what he was doing, he prompted her forward and the telltale ripple of thick air brushed across her skin as she passed through what she assumed were the wards around his home.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered the odd, remnant tingles lingering on her exposed flesh.

“An anti-apparition ward at the very least,” she said, resuming their walk towards a modest home of only two levels and a handful of dark windows. “Muggle repellent charm as well?”

His chuckle almost made her scowl but she couldn’t hear a hint of malice or derision in it.

“If I did that then my neighbor, Grace, wouldn’t be able to stop by and gossip my ear off on the increasingly rare days where I’m not working. She makes up for it by also dropping off a half dozen of her homemade preserves every few months, so I can’t complain.”

If she allowed herself to stop and think, the surreal evening would have turned her mind to mud. Where the day had started as any other, it had ended in a muggle pub with an old friend who told her of taking jam from neighborly women after she had wondered into some top-secret investigation and landed herself a job.

Not just any old friend. The savior of the Magical World. Of the whole world, likely, and the muggles that chatted with him didn’t even know it.

The thought of some old woman bringing Harry food and talking for ages across the aged wood of a waist-high fence tickled something cozy inside her chest teased a smile to her lips.

“I wonder what it is about you that makes old women want to fatten you up.”

At that, he laughed aloud. 

“I have no idea. I eat plenty nowadays. You can’t exactly be ready to chase after cultists when you’re falling down from hunger.” He turned to her and grinned, a swath of white splitting his face in the moonlight that stole years from his features. “She’s usually trying to set me up with one of her five granddaughters.”

“Oh?”

She thought it may have been the lingering alcohol that made him so talkative, or perhaps the serenity of the evening, but when they finally reached his front door, she found she wasn’t quite ready to stop listening to his retellings of Grace’s grandchildren. Abby sounded particularly lovely.

With a smooth, habitual motion, Harry pushed open the door and lit the front rooms with a wave of his wand.

“Floo is in the living room,” he said, pointing to a small archway to their right. “Powder is on the mantel. I’m off to bed. Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” she said with a not inconsiderable amount of warmth. It had been quite a long time since she had been invited out by a friend and longer still since she had enjoyed the experience. “I’ll let you know when I figure something out about these runes.”

“Please do,” he said through a yawn. “I’ll get you the better pictures as soon as I can. It’ll hopefully only be a few days, but you know how the Ministry can be.”

Then he was gone, leaving her in a home that her childish curiosity begged her to explore. Instead, the adult in her found some pen and paper, scribbled a note, and departed through the floo.

\----------

The pictures he’d promised did not show up in a few days, nor had they done by the end of the week. It wasn’t until the beginning of the following week that she received what she needed to get to work. And it wasn’t a day too soon. Between the manic organization of her workspace and subsequent cleaning spree that had consumed her as she continued through the rest of her house, she had run out of tasks to keep herself busy while waiting.

Waiting for both the pictures and whatever was taking Harry so damn long to respond to her impulsive note.

A thought struck her in the middle of her kitchen, clean mugs in each hand and halfway up to the cabinet where they belongs. No response was, in its way, an answer. One she had employed a handful of times over the years and now made a vow to never do again.

The uncertainty was far more painful than outright rejection. Not that she’d had any experience with the latter.

With a frown, she set the mugs in their places and wandered back into the living room, dropping down onto her couch. It…might have been wise to ask if he were seeing anybody before making her move. And perhaps she had read too deeply into a joke about first dates and work.

Then again, whatever he was working on was of utmost secrecy and he didn’t likely have time for simple dates and what lay beyond.

But her stupid, banal musings were clipped before they could take flight when her fireplace flared green, drawing her back into the present. Harry stepped through with little more than a hello as though he’d wandered straight out of her thoughts and into her living room.

When he’d lived in her imagination, he hadn’t looked like death warmed over. He’d been tall, stalwart, and at times less clothed, but never drooping and almost…gaunt.

Yet he still smiled at her, lifting the folder of photos aloft as though payment for wandering into her home. Which, as far as payment was concerned, was a good start.

“An interesting hello,” she found herself saying, rising from the couch to accept the offered folder. “I believe I was promised it would take just a few days.”

“There were…complications,” he said. His voice was husky, though not the sort of timbre that sent tingles running up her spine, but the scratchy rasp of someone who had just finished a great deal of shouting.

“Of the sort you can’t discuss?”

“Exactly,” he muttered, moving over to the couch. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she said, thumbing through the photos before setting the file on her desk. “You look like you could use more than just a sit-down. Do you want some coffee?”

He nodded as he sank down into the cushions with a sigh. His head dropped against the back and she saw his eyes flutter.

“If you’re asleep before we have the chance to talk at all, and after I’ve gone through all the trouble of making you a coffee, you’re getting a swift boot back through the floo.”

“Understood,” he mumbled, his scratchy voice so muffled that she pulled just a single mug from the cabinet.

Coffee made and poured, she indulged in a bit of guilty examination of his resting, handsome face before looking through the photos in earnest.

His sound sleep, so deep that he didn’t move or twitch during the hours she worked in the same room, lasted deep into the evening, when runes and words began to blend together in her vision and a faint thrum began to swell behind her eyes. Even the clatter of plates and cabinet doors while she made a quick sandwich didn’t roust him from whatever depths of rest he’d plunged to and she eventually found herself at a loss. 

Periodically staring at him hadn’t lost its appeal insomuch as she began to feel as though she were being creepy, no matter that he’d wandered in and fallen asleep on her couch. The small blanket she’d covered him with lay on the floor in a pile, kicked off almost as soon as she’d draped it over his body. So, she opted to get cleaned up, to wash away the grime of a day spent cleaning and hunched over dusty books. A long shower would give her the opportunity to ponder the rest of the evening, provided he didn’t sleep until dawn, and decide how she wanted to approach the issue of the unanswered note.

Boiling water cascaded over her head and fogged the glass door to the shower, gluing long strands of hair to her shoulders and back as she used the heat to try to drive the fog from her mind. She’d been forward plenty of times before, often with far less polite and far, far more effective language. She’d ensnared people with a glance and the bite of her lip, an homage to her ancestors that could trap lustful attention with their simple presence. Following her split from Bill, she had been a natural disaster of seductive grace, stealing hearts, kisses, and beds as often as she pleased. A time fondly remembered by all involved.

And yet. She’d written a note and fled to twirl her hair like some idiot schoolgirl.

It’d been very easy to rationalize her reticence as simply taking care with someone she knew. Had known. And someone who was close with a family who despised her, no matter if they were currently ‘on the outs’.

Though the argument fell apart under any sort of scrutiny. Neither of them were children any longer and perfectly capable of making their own decision.

She had tried to say it had been the recent loss of another bond that stalled her forward momentum.

But it was far from the first, and though pleasant, she’d known from the beginning that things weren’t going to go anywhere with that one.

The smell of soap and shampoo helped to clear her thoughts, if not assist in reaching any definitive conclusions. Steam and fragrance mixed around her and the routine of a long, luxuriant shower helped ground her in the simple act of washing. Anxious nerves melted away beneath the heated water and the tight muscles of her neck let go of an iron grip she hadn’t realized they’d held.

After either a half an hour, or three, she couldn’t be sure, she was nearly as liquidus as the water cascading down her body.

Until a knock sounded at her bathroom door.

“Fleur?”

Even muffled, his voice was loud and piercing, recovered from whatever stress he’d placed upon it before visiting.

When she didn’t answer, he continued.

“Are you in there?”

She gathered the puddle of her thoughts and dove back into the woman she knew she was. The one who reached without question for what she wanted.

“I am,” she called back, shifting beneath the stream of water so it fell in large, obvious splashes to the tile below her feet.

There was a pause, then she heard the faintest clearing of his throat.

“I was just about to head home,” he said, and she liked to imagine she could hear the faint blush in his voice. “I didn’t want to leave without-”

“I can’t hear you,” she said, perhaps a bit overloud. A lie. “Door’s unlocked.”

Invitation sent, now to see if she had been wrong.

The noisy latch of a doorknob sent thrilling tendrils of electric anticipation flooding her nerves. With the steamy heat of the long shower, only a shadow appeared in the doorway through the foggy glass. Even so, his hesitation was obvious; a quick halting step into the bathroom as, she assumed, his eyes caught up with his mind.

Even through the heat of the water, gooseflesh wound its way across her skin with a rapidity that matched her breathing. Quick bursts of steamy air filled her lungs, heating her blood with heady anticipation.

There was so much fun to be had in the early, teasing stages. Excitement in building the pressure beyond bursting, making the first touches, caresses, and bites into a paltry release of the aching need to touch and be touched.

When she realized he hadn’t moved or spoken further, she turned to face him, the fog preserving modesty she had no interest in keeping. Her standing shower wasn’t overlarge, but being a preeminent Runemaster came with the perks afforded astoundingly high fees. Some might call her home luxurious but she’d simply opted for what made her comfortable. As such, she had the space for slow steps towards the glass before she raised a hand to wipe away the condensation at eye level.

She met the gaze of wide, dark green eyes that almost instantly broke their connection to travel down to linger on what she was sure was a fuzzy, yet tantalizing image. No definition yet beyond hint and imagination.

The ferocious attention he leveled on her once he met her gaze again sent waves pulsing beneath her skin, warming her further in the veritable sauna.

“This wasn’t quite what I expected when I read your note,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the glass and into her bones.

She took another step forward, the glass cool against her breasts. She didn’t bother hiding her pleased smile when his eyes went wide and his hands twitched at his sides.

“Then you have no imagination.”

In what was clearly the coup-de-grace to his control, she bit the corner of her lip in a way she had found most effective and vanished back into the mist of the shower.

The rustle of clothing outside the glass conjured her daydreams of the muscles being exposed to the warm air just beyond the foggy door. The circles her chest had cleared gave her slight glimpses of flesh and clothes; just enough to tantalize. Just enough to set her nerves alight and reduce her thoughts to the oncoming feast.

He slid the door open and stepped through into her steam-filled domain, bringing a burst of cool air in behind him. It churned through the mist in concert with her stomach, which set to pleasant acrobatics at the sight of him.

Late night thoughts of what hid beneath his well-fitted shirts and trousers did little to prepare her for what stood in front of her. When he drew close, her hands drank as greedily as her eyes, fingertips brushing across the ridges of muscle on his chest and over collarbones and scars.

His hands shifted in turn. Hot, hard, and every bit as sturdy as she imagined. They trailed heat to put the falling water to shame around her waist, somehow enveloping her side enough to draw her against him, to feel and touch him, to crush the length of him so mercilessly between their bodies.

Her body burned against his as she lifted onto tiptoes to capture his mouth, to taste the mix of water and skin that satiated only a fraction of the desire swelling inside her chest and far lower, pulsing with the need of him.

His response came immediate and frantic, a match to her own soft bites and wandering lips as they traced their way along his jaw to his ear. The rolling shudder that followed rippled under her fingertips that lay on his back and she trailed her nails down to finally feel the backside she’d spent the entire walk to his house admiring. His answering gasp was intoxicating and it stuttered to a halt when she pressed tighter against him, pressing her breasts into his chest and his erection into her stomach. Her body drank the heat of it, of him, and it set fire to her nerves.

Each gentle, trailing caress of his fingers up her spine sent waves of desire deep into her skin. A desire to be grasped, held, needed and kneaded in abandonment of his careful attentions. One of those magnificent hands finally cupped her ass, squeezing far gentler than she wanted.

Rather than voice a complaint, she slid one of her hands around front, nipping at the crook of his neck while she curled her fingers and squeezed, eliciting another moan she reveled in. He throbbed beneath her hand, twitching with the same need that pulsed between her legs.

Even now, his hands continued their soft trails and left unsatisfied heat in their wake. Up her back and frustratingly down her sternum and to her navel as he took a step back to admire her, though she only tightened her grip to rather great effect.

Taking care not to injure, she pulled him forward and locked him into a kiss that promised of her tongues attentive finesse in the future. For now, she lifted onto her toes to let a hot, desperate breath brush against his ear as she spoke.

“Touch me.”

Whatever was left in her lungs fled in a rush when he filled one of his hands with a breast and the other snaked its way down her stomach and between her legs to rub sensational fire where she wanted it most. As before, he wasn’t as rough; as greedy as she wanted, his careful circles and plunges sending delightful spikes of electricity through her body, but sating little of the carnal desire.

But she could fix that.

She moved her hand in time with his, loose strokes that kept the water from catching and ruining their building groove. Each time his finger dipped inside her, she pressed hard against his hand, setting a new, more rapid rhythm.

He matched her easily, his own hips shifting in time with her hand, though the increase in speed matched poorly with the water still cascading down their bodies.

That too could be fixed.

Where his fingers slid and beckoned her slowly closer to what was sure to be a pleasant but unsatisfying release, she removed her hand from his cock and heard herself gasp when he pinched her nipple with almost as much force as she preferred. He removed his hands from her, leaving her cold and wanting, though if she had her way she wouldn’t stay so for very long.

In the minor clarity afforded her by the absence of his hand she let herself absorb the image of him. Tense shoulders and taut muscles cut their way through falling water and steam. Black hair clung to his scalp and chest while stubble stood out against rivulets of water sliding down his face. Small red bite-marks that were unlikely to turn into anything more permanent peppered his neck and shoulders.

Streams of water drew her eyes down in a mirror of his own, heated gaze that traversed the angles and swells of her body. Obliging, she ran an idle hand over one of her breasts, reveling in the way his breath caught and eyes grew wide and hungry.

Good.

He sucked in a breath as her hand traveled lower, through the water running down her abdomen and to the heat pulsing between her legs. Water made for a poor lubricant, but even as gentle as he’d been, it wouldn’t be an issue.

The twitch of his cock against his pelvis drew the last threads of her attention and she slid a foot forward across the tile. There was plenty of space in her shower for all sorts of fun, but he was undoubtedly muscular enough to handle one of her favorites. 

Careful to allow his tip to brush at her stomach, she wove her arms around his neck and lifted a leg to his side, shifting so he would rub perfectly against her. The heat of his bare flesh against her core sent her blood thundering through her veins, begging her to take action, to be greedy and quick, and fill herself with him.

Instead, she lifted herself to whisper again into his ear.

“Lift me up and set me down onto you.”

The quick shudder that rolled through him seemed violent enough to buckle his knees but he acquiesced without a word, dipping his arms behind her knees and lifting her into the sort of kiss she’d been searching for.

Quick and frantic.

Needy.

His teeth pulled at her lip when she let one arm fall from behind his head to position him properly and his lips pressed against hers as he lowered her onto the glorious sensation she craved.

His mouth ran rampant across her neck, nipping and kissing along a burning line of nerves that made her clench around him, eliciting a wonderful grunt against her skin. Each lift and drop was punctuated with primitive grunts of exertion from him that kept time with her own gasps and the rolling pleasure the pulsed with each thrust.

She kept rhythm with him, relegating the work to her legs where she could control the speed: to bring it to the frantic pace that satiated the hunger inside and built upon the foundation he’d started with careful fingers. Skin met skin and filled the shower with the mingled sounds of falling water and sex, the heat of both setting her ablaze in his arms.

Each lift and fall brushed against the parts of her that coiled tight threads inside her; the reason she so preferred this method.

When each of their joined thrusts drew moans through kisses fueled by instinct rather than thought, he rotated on the spot and pressed her back into the tiled wall. The chill of it sent not-unpleasant convulsions rolling through her body while his increased pace and reflexive sounds of pleasure drew her deeper into her pleasure.

She let her head drop against his shoulder, mouth sore and satiated while she focused on her growing climax, building with each thrust. With her back against the wall and legs over his arms, it offered her the perfect, illicit view as he buried himself in her.

He’d gone quiet when her quick breaths became pants and she begged him not to stop, not to slow. Until each and every manic, pulsing thrust forward was sure to tip her over but she coiled ever tighter until the knot burst and sent her tumbling into blissful convulsions. Hot electricity spun across her body with each wave, pulsing in concert with his continued motion, bursting into lightheaded pleasure that left her gasping.

He followed mere seconds behind as his focus finally broke and the pulsing twitch of him inside her lent itself to the lingering, pleasure-filled static that thrummed in time with his orgasm. The muscles of his stomach clenched as he came, the length of him still pressed deep inside.

With arms of liquid, she hefted some of her weight off his arms and let him finish the final, twitching throes lost in sensation.

Similarly wobbly legs helped her stand upright while he sagged against her, the weight and contact a pleasant exchange for the absence of heat inside her. When his breathing finally slowed and he pulled back to look at her, there was no denying the grin that stole across her face at his dumbstruck expression.

“Fortunately we’re in the shower, so cleanup won’t be a problem,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes as unmoving as the rest of him before they darted down to where her breasts pressed against his skin.

“And then…maybe we move to the bed?”

She smiled and lifted to press a kiss to his lips. 

“My bed is for very special occasions,” she murmured, running a hand along his abdomen as she slid out from between him and the wall and back into the cascading water. “Let’s get cleaned up and get you some food so you can recover some of that energy. I have a rather large couch that makes for excellent fun.”


End file.
